


Rhapsody of a Serial Killer

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Sad, Sadstuck, murderstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THIS WORK HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED DUE TO LACK OF INTEREST<br/>go home everybody.</p><p>You are Cronus Ampora. You're barely of legal drinking age and so far your life has been a living hell. You are, much like your late father, off putting and uncomfortable to be around for most people. You've taken solace, though, in the comfort of a preachers son, as you try to get your miserable, lonely life back together. But there's always that other side of you, the one that you hoped to God no one would find out about, that part of you that yearns to find comfort in the feeling of steel tearing into flesh in any fashion. You're trying though. You're not an evil man...just....a little lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

You were eight when you had the displeasure of meeting Kankri Vantas, the boy who was kind enough to inform you you were going to hell if you continued to play with your favorite red power ranger action figure because his father told him that playing with toys was equal to worshipping false idols, which was one of the ten commandments. You responded by throwing sand into his eyes and telling him to go "shove it up his ass", something you heard your father often say to those he referred to as "religious nut jobs". People like Kankri's father, and people like Kankri. You felt the wrath of God when your father had to pick you up, informed of your immediate suspension. Then again, this wasn't your first offense. You were an ornery child, after all. There was no way you couldn't be. Your father, a very belligerent, angry fisherman by the name of Orpheus Ampora had raised you all by himself. That's the way it seemed. You're mother was never around, and he had completely stopped showing up after your baby brother, Eridan, was born. You never blamed him for her leaving though. After all, it was your father who told you it was your fault. You remember the burning ache when he came in drunk one night when you were eight and set his ring, the one with the logo of the fishing company he owned, the one with the two waves, in the fire. Your brother was screaming in his high chair and your father approached you, squeezing your cheeks in his calloused grip. He asked you why you were such a disappointment to which he was met with only tears. You could never get used to that. The man you looked up to being so condescending. He plucked his ring from the fire, pressing it to your temple, leaving two searing wounds. You bit into your tongue so you wouldn't scream upsetting your little brother further, but you still sobbed, and you were sure Eridan wasn't happy with it. There was one other thing that stuck out in your memory. That was the smell of burning flesh. You remember standing over the smoldering pit out in the woods behind your house where your fathers ashes lay. You had found him hanging off his bed. His face was blue and his eyes were wide, white and milky. You assumed he had mixed alcohol with medication, and that was that. You didn't want to be separated from your brother, and you sure as hell didn't want to land yourself in foster care, so you dug a hole in the back of the house, dragging your father into it, dumping whatever flammable liquids you could find over the body, watching whatever rolled off his corpse pool for a brief moment before soaking into the earth. You lit a match, lighting the cigarette hanging off your bottom lip, taking a deep drag before tossing it in, igniting the body in a flurry of flames. It took hours to burn, and you had to occasionally relight the fire, but the effort was well worth it to be able to stay independent, and to keep the brother he had protected for the past eight years. You turned around to face the young boy, gripping a shovel and a few flowers picked out of the garden that you and your mother had planted when you were four. You opened your mouth to shout at him, but instead let out a soft sigh. You pat his head and took the shovel, covering the body, allowing Eridan to toss the flowers onto the grave before you lead him back. Admittedly that was the best part of your childhood.

It was your sophomore year of college and you were twenty when you met Kankri Vantas again. Your first instinct was to make an incredibly offensive religious joke but he was cut off with an apology filled with an incredulously long speech about shit you frankly didn't care about. You still found yourself sticking around until the end of it though. You weren't sure if it was due to the fact you were dumbfounded that someone could be so long winded and you wanted to see how long it could last, or because someone actually wanted to talk to you. You weren't exactly the most approachable guy in town. You immediately took the prolonged attention as a sign of affection, and in return you cupped the boys face in your palms and pressed a sloppy kiss to his lips. You were met with a swift slap to the face and an expression of complete disgust. Your heart fluttered and a bright blush spread across your freckled face as he sighed, shaking his head. He called you completely clueless before handing over his number, advising you to seek a therapist, but that he'd be there if you promised not to lay your hands on him like that ever again. You asked if you two could hang out later, to which he swiftly declined, stating that he'd need a few days to recover from the extreme intrusion into his personal space. That was good enough for you. You swung your bag over your shoulder and retreated to your campus apartment where your twelve year old brother lay reclined on your couch, once again neglecting his chores. You let out a long sigh, ruffling the boys hair to wake him up. He swatted your hand away with a groan and turned on his side. The lazy dork.  
“Eridan, go pick us up some pizzas. Whatever toppings you want.”  
You were a good brother. You had always been. If you knew that these words would be fatal you would have just let your brother sleep, but as a preteen, his stomach had gotten the last word. You handed him the twenty and sent him out on his way. You sighed reclining in your favorite second-hand arm chair, waiting for your brother to return while enjoying the moment of peace and quiet. You kicked your feet back, starting to worry when the boy hadn't returned after an hour had passed. You tried to call his phone, but no answer. That's when you really started to panic. You hopped up, pulling on your coat, and head out the door. 

It was a hit and run. You found your baby brother, the boy you had raised, laying in the middle of the road limbs bent awkwardly, eyes wide open with his face frozen in a look of shock, surrounded by a crowd of flashing red and blue lights. You didn't break down and cry, you didn't scream, you didn't make a sound. You turned, heading home, unable to look at your little brothers body, feeling nothing but cold. He was gone. The person you had worked to protect most of your life was gone, and it was your fault. As if on cue, your phone began to buzz. You picked it off the table, and your blood turned to ice as Eridan's name illuminated the screen. You hoped to God that it was the boy, calling to tell you that he was in the hospital and alright, or telling you that this was all one sick joke, but in reality, the grim reality that you were forced to claim as home, you knew what was on the other line. You picked up, swiping the screen to answer the call.  
 _“Cronus Ampora?”_ a gruff voice on the other line asked?  
 _“Yeah, that's me.”_  
“Is your father there?”  
“Our father walked out twelve years ago. It's just my brother Eridan and me.”  
There was a long pause, filled only by heavy breaths.  
 _“I'm sorry to inform you that your brother was a victim of a hit and run driver. I'm going to need you to come down to the police station. Identify the body. We wanna make sure.”_  
There was another long silence.  
 _“Yeah. Can I bring someone with me?”_  
“Sure.”  
You hung up, dialing the only other number in your phone.  
 _“Cronus?”_ a remarkably softer voice chimed. You managed to get out your address and begged for Kankri to come, to which he, though apprehensive, obliged. He was in your apartment in a matter of minutes. He allowed you to bury your face in his shoulder, his fingers running through your hair while you told him everything, absolutely _everything_. From the point you two had met onward. He had promised not to tell, and through your naivety you believed him. He lead you to the police department, where you were redirected to the morgue a block down. You didn't want to go in. You tried to run, but Kankri caught you and dragged you inside, but not without a fight. It took both Kankri and the cop from the phone to drag you inside the room where your brother lay. The officer waited until you had calmed down a bit before pulling the blanket away from the twelve year old's face, and that was when you truly lost it. You vomited down your front, onto your shoes, both men having to hold you up. Tears streamed down your face, and all you could do was nod in response to the police officer's questions. They didn't know who did it, but they had a picture. 

This was the week that you, Cronus Ampora, would turn twenty one, enter your first and only relationship with the pastor's son, and kill the first person in the long list of people that would eventually land you with the name the “Midnight Butcher”.


	2. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cronus comes into contact with someone who ultimately pushes him too far.
> 
> (WARNING, DEATH AND BLOOD IN THIS CHAPTER))

Your breath hitched in your throat ask Kankri laid the pictures of you and your baby brother out on the coffee table. For once he was completely silent, pensive, where you explained the story behind each and every one, all the while staving off the tears that threatened to roll down you face. Kankri glanced up from his organization project for a minute. He stood, moving to st next to you, wrapping an arm around your back rubbing it gently to which you responded by leaning over, resting your cheek on his head. He was rigid, slightly uncomfortable with the physical affection you had displayed to him, he made that obvious, but out of being a good friend or just out of pity he put up with it. That was when you tried it again. You leaned into him slowly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, bracing yourself for the repercussion. Kankri immediately slid away from you, glancing back at you with a look that portrayed both guilt and discomfort. He actually felt guilty that he didn't want you to kiss him, and you felt guilty that you made him feel like that. You were a douche for making that move, he was being so sweet in helping you with everything, setting up Eridan's memorial, offering to move in with you for a while. You started to apologize, scratching the back of your head, but before you could manage to get it all out, he rested a hand on your shoulder, reassuring that it would be okay. After all, you weren't exactly in your right mind, were you? He didn't know how right he was.

That evening there was a knock at the door. Kankri was sleeping in your bed and you had been watching Grease on rerun. It was agitating, having to get up right in the middle of your favorite song, and as “You're the One That I Want” played in the background, you opened your front door to reveal a young man, had to be in his early thirties. He had deep, gray eyes that held all the shame in the world in them. He brushed his thick black hair out of his eyes.   
“Ampora?” he asked, his voice soft, cracking slightly. You nodded and stepped aside, letting him in out of the rain. He hesitated before walking through the threshold, and that was when you noticed your brother's obituary tucked under his arm. You locked the door behind you.  
“Can I get you something to drink, pal?” you asked, making an excuse to head into the kitchen, trying your hardest to hide the tears that brimmed your eyes. Men don't cry.  
“Water's fine,” he mumbled, taking a seat on the couch. There was a long silence before the stranger spoke again. “I didn't mean to hit your brother.” he said. You froze, your body rendering itself numb. You could feel the blood drain from your face and you felt what felt like ice running through your veins. You looked up from the faucet, staring at the man while he brushed through the pictures of your brother. 

 

“Yeah, well, you can tell that to the cops when you turn yourself in,” you said softly, bringing the man out his water. As angry as you were, you couldn't exactly fault him for apologizing.   
“I'm not going to turn myself in,” he said as you turned your back, returning to the kitchen. “I already had three DUI's, I just-” he paused, probably looking for the words to say, trying to justify what he did, to justify taking Eridan away from you. “I just needed to get this off of my chest, you'll never have to worry about me again, I'm skipping town.”  
Your breath caught in your throat.  
“You can't do that man, you killed my baby brother. You can't just come over and apologize and expect everything to be okay.”  
You were doing your best to keep calm. That was when the knife drawer caught your attention.  
“It's not my fault...” he murmured. “I'm leaving. You won't have to worry about it anymore.”  
You stepped in front of the door, pushing him back.  
“Excuse me? I won't have to worry about it anymore?” You pushed him again, causing him to fall back onto the ground. “You killed my brother, I have to live with that for the rest of my life!”  
The male pushed himself up stumbling back. The guilt had quickly shifted to fear, then to anger.  
“It wasn't my fault the kid was wandering around by himself. _Maybe you should have kept a better eye on him._ ”  
The words echoed in your mind like bells, and you clenched your fist. The other smiled, he actually smiled.   
“Yeah, it wasn't my fault, you're the one who wasn't watching him, he was your responsibility wasn't he?”   
You didn't hear a word of that. You were too busy drawing a fist back to slug him, and you did. You could hear the cartilage pop as your knuckles collided with his face. You pulled back, watching the man pull himself up again, stumbling slightly as blood gushed from his nose.  
“You fucker!,” he wheezed trying to contain the blood in his nose while still too scared to touch it. You never really realized how good it was hitting a man that deserved it until you did it a second time. This time he kept his mouth shut, making a beeline for the door. You grabbed him by the arm, yanking it back, throwing him back down and pinned him under your foot. You contemplated calling the police, but even then justice wouldn't be done. The worst he'd get was manslaughter, and even on top of driving under the influence it wouldn't be the life sentence he deserved. You stoped on his ribs, causing him to curl into a ball, and while he was down you made your way into the kitchen soon returning with the biggest, sharpest knife you could find. He didn't have the chance to scream when you plunged it into his windpipe, the only sound aside from the knife tearing flesh being the death rattle that followed. You watched the blood drain out and his eyes go still, releasing a shaky sigh. This brought back the memory of watching your father die, though, the feeling that this brought you was more powerful, rewarding. You had just killed the man who had left you the last Ampora standing. No, you couldn't even refer to him as a man. He was the flea on the ass of the rat and he killed your Eridan and tried to make you feel guilty about it. That was when you snapped back into reality. Now you had to wrap the body up, carry it out to the spot you burned your father, burn this body, get home, clean up the blood, and all before Kankri woke up. 

You nearly sprinted into your bedroom, grabbing your bedspread off your bed, dragging it back into the living room and wrapped the body in it. It wasn't hard to get to your car without being noticed, seeing how late at night it was. You were lucky there were no other cars around, aside from the ones that normally sat outside. It meant the fucker had to have walked. You tossed the body into the trunk and made the short drive back to the cabin of your origins. It was empty, just as you and Eridan had let it years and years ago. Nothing had been touched, aside from a few vines that grew over your fathers now rusted tools. You parked in the back, pulling the shovel from where you left it, digging a pit. You tossed the body in, dowsing it in the spare gasoline you had kept in a red tak in your truck before lighting it on fire. It was nearly sunrise when all that was left was bones and ash, and with that you covered it all up, looking back one final time to spit on their graves. 

When you had made it back you found the floor had already been mopped, and Kankri sat on the couch, examining the knife. Your heart dropped as he looked at you, fear in his eyes. You moved a cross the floor, kneeling in front of him. You took the knife, setting it on the coffee table behind you before explaining each and every thing that had ever happened to you throughout your entire miserable life. He took it better than you had expected, explaining that he had found the blood on the floor and thought that something had happened to you. He was relieved that you were alright which shocked you. You thought he'd advise you to turn yourself in, or worse, he'd run from you, but he seemed more understanding than a normal person would be. He claimed he would have done the same if something happened to his younger brother, Karkat, and such “triggering” things were said, could he pull it off with his small stature. He proceeded to give you a reassuring smile, urging you to get a shower and go to bed. After all, you did have a really rough night. Then he did something you had never been able to explain since. He leaned forward, cupping your face in his palms and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before heading into the kitchen, slipping the knife in the dishwasher with a near silent “I'm proud of you.”


End file.
